


ooh, i'm not a baby no more

by pr1nc3ssp34ch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison and Lydia Are The Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Character Differences, Demisexuality - freeform, F/M, Idiots in Love, M/M, Makeover, Multi, Pining, Tropes, oblivious!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr1nc3ssp34ch/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles!" Wow, she really needed to stop leaving her keys places. That was definitely Lydia, definitely with a key to Stiles' house, walking straight in like she belonged and totally interrupting Stiles' Sunday pigout and religious Batman marathon with a sashay of her perfect hips.</p><p>Stiles dropped a hot pocket right onto her boobs and had the wherewithal not to shout.</p><p>Lydia looked particularly pitying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ooh, i'm not a baby no more

**Author's Note:**

> Title lyrics taken from "Get It Daddy" by Sleeper Agent.
> 
> Probably the only time I'll write Girl!Stiles? I don't make any promises though.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://pr1nc3ssp34ch.tumblr.com).

Stiles couldn't quite tell where her life had gone wrong.

 

One moment, everything was fine. She was eighteen and feeling fancy-free. Scott and Allison were on, which meant less-angsty Scott and less teary Allison and  _definitely_ less of The Notebook in anyone's life but Lydia's. And Isaac's, but when she asked, he said he didn't like to talk about it.

 

Stiles wasn't touching that one with a ten foot pole.

 

The point being, life was great. It was almost graduation, she'd been accepted at Stanford, the pack was all within an hour's distance from her - including Derek, stuck at home - and she could finally relax on the couch, ignoring the supernatural while there was still a lull in activity.

 

Now let's be clear - Stiles had never thought of herself as particularly stylish. Sure, she wasn't fashion-dumb, but she wasn't great at it either. She preferred old jeans that she could run in and sweatshirts that were warm, not clingy, because girl hoodies never were very warm. She liked her layers and her plaids. But that was the fashion now, wasn't it? Hipster or whatever? Point being, Stiles never cared much for clothes. She knew, abstractly, that Lydia and Allison were about ten times more stylin' than she was, but she had the name, so who were they to judge?

 

She'd been surprised that Lydia had actually graced her with her presence after the disaster that was sophomore year, blabbing about 'unrealized potential' and 'how did you stay off my radar so long, Stilinski?' but very firmly remaining in the zone of friendship. Which was strange, considering Stiles has pretty much always worshiped the ground Lydia walked on and Lydia had studiously ignored her since fourth grade. But she was going with the flow. So Lydia was down to associate despite the pizza stains on the hem of Stiles' favorite t-shirt. That was awesome, actually.

 

Allison was great, too. She'd always liked Allison, though she'd been a little upset at how insane she made Scott. She'd had a bout of hatred for her after she went griefcrazy, but eventually she'd apologized and cried and whatever, Stiles could be flexible. Forgiving. Allison was a pretty decent friend, and one of her first, as girlfriends went. (Lydia technically came before her, but strangely, it took Stiles even longer to be comfortable with her than with Allison. Strange world.) Allison never really stopped turning her friend into an idiot, but she was considerate about it.

 

Erica was sort of terrifying, but Stiles could handle her on a normal day. Erica was kind of like her soulmate in many aspects. She liked comics - batgirl and catwoman forever - and wasn't afraid to be herself, not anymore, at least. Stiles identified with that. Erica was a cool chick, and the one you wanted to have on your side. At any time. 

 

So Stiles actually likes her girlfriends. I mean, she never really thought she'd have any, but she guessed she wouldn't like it. Scott had always been enough for her - any other friends tended to be guys, too, but Scott was the one who stayed. It surprised her, how much she liked spending time with Lydia, Allison, and Erica. They'd formed a little group of womanly solidarity. It was pretty cool.

 

When it wasn't annoying as hell.

 

"Stiles!" Wow, she really needed to stop leaving her keys places. That was definitely Lydia, definitely with a key to Stiles'  _house,_ walking straight in like she belonged and totally interrupting Stiles' Sunday pigout and religious Batman marathon with a sashay of her perfect hips.

 

Stiles dropped a hot pocket right onto her boobs and had the wherewithal not to shout.

 

Lydia looked particularly pitying.

 

"So _this_ is what you've been doing all weekend." Lydia sounded disappointed, which was surprising. Stiles often wondered what she did with her alone time. Exfoliate? Curl her hair? Shop with the unlimited money she always seemed to have? It was a mystery.

 

Though she supposed Lydia didn't have nearly as much alone time, what with the way she'd been dating Jackson freshman through sophomore year and nabbed Isaac halfway through their junior. The girl was a play- _ya._ Stiles could respect, okay?

 

"Yes, Lydia," she said, entertaining her. Anyone who didn't entertain Lydia was insane. "Unlike you and all your perfection, I am a normal girl. In fact, I am actually sort of a nerdy girl. One who likes eating five hot pockets and watching lots of Batman movies.  _Alone._ In  _peace."_ Lydia snorted and didn't even dignify that with a response. Which was to be expected. Damn, she was high-maintenance.

 

She sat next to Stiles, floral skirt perfectly unruffled. Stiles took this as her cue to clean up, which she did by taking the dropped and no-longer burning hot pocket and putting it in her nearby makeshift garbage can. Her cleavage was a little red, but it'd probably go away by the end of the day. She sighed, turning back to her friend (she was reconsidering it at the thought of her burned chest). "What do you want?"

 

"We took a vote."

 

Stiles frowned. "We? Who is this we you speak of? Not I, not I!" Lydia rolled her eyes. 

 

"Allison, Erica and Isaac. I put them to a vote and they agreed with me - which is no big surprise, to be honest. I bet half the town would vote in my favor." Stiles frowned. Lydia was insane. It was... 2pm. Too early for this shit.

 

"And you voted on...?"

 

"The sad state of your wardrobe."

 

There it was. Stiles bit back a moan of agony. She'd wondered when Lydia would get there. She just hoped it'd be... well, never, really. But she hadn't not-expected it, exactly. Lydia Martin couldn't be expected to be hanging around frumpy Stiles Stilinski forever. Still, no one had ever accused Stiles of being anything but stubborn.

 

"You're not giving me a makeover." Lydia raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Stiles stood her ground despite the terrifying display. "This is not an 80's movie. I am not the nerd girl who is secretly beautiful beneath her big sweatshirts. I have no chest and wide hips and my nose will never, ever work and I am fine with that. Resigned to that. I live with it and deal with it daily. This is not happening."

 

Somewhere halfway through her rant Lydia was rolling her eyes, standing and offering a perfectly-manicured hand to Stiles, who remained on the couch. "You know you'll never win, Stilinski. Give up while you're ahead. Also - you're not ugly. If you were I would never have stepped within ten feet of you. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and let us  _show you_ how beautiful you can be."

 

And, well, you see, Lydia didn't compliment often. Not outright, not without manipulation of some sort. She supposed this sort of fell into that category, but it also rang sincere.

 

It was pretty good, as motivators went.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I take it back," Stiles said as they entered the mall. It was full of people. Jesus fuck she hated crowds. And malls. "I revoke my consent. I am not buying anything."

 

Erica propelled her forward with a sharp hand on her back while Lydia spoke in a tone that clearly meant she was rolling her eyes. "You weren't buying anything to begin with, Stiles. Remember? One of the rules was that I would fund the excursion?"

 

"Right. Let's talk semantics instead of turning around because  _you are killing me._ _"_

 

"It's not death. It's a rebirth."

 

"Allison, I swear, I will punch you. I will take whatever Scott gives me for it."

 

Erica continued moving her forward, ignoring each protest. "Stop being a baby and shop, Stilinski."

 

When you put it like that, it sounded sort of babyish. Just a little. Stiles pouted as they dragged her into Hollister, pretending to gag on the collogne. Erica clearly wasn't buying it - her nose was way more sensitive, and she put up with it for the clothes. 

 

Stiles was doomed.

 

Every store they tried, she felt like she'd been put into a thousand things. They didn't veer from Stiles' personality, exactly - each dress they put her in was something she'd have picked herself, if she liked dresses - but nothing beat comfortable jeans. Nothing.

 

She  _did_ smack a kiss to Lydia's cheek after seeing her cleavage in a properly fitted bra, though.

 

And she had to admit, though the new clothes weren't...  _comfortable,_ they weren't terrible, either. The few dresses were long but not grandma-long, and they were soft material that didn't cling past the waist. Lydia had forced her into some denim shorts, since it was summer, but those were comfortable, and Stiles actually had legs! Who knew! 

 

Mostly they got her jeans; ones that were tight, that clung like a second skin. They were uncomfortable in unfamiliarity, but the others assured her that soon enough baggy jeans would be the uncomfortable ones. She wasn't sure how that worked, really, but they made her ass look fantastic, so why should she complain?

 

All in all it wasn't... too bad. She still had lots of plaids, though these clinched at the waist and fitted against her body. The tanks showed off her boobs, too. Erica had even shelled out for a leather jacket - she said it was to make her really look like she belonged to the cult, but Stiles thought it was more Erica's brand of nice. 

 

Stiles didn't come out looking like a model. She didn't look like Lydia and Allison's bohemian chic, nor Erica's biker babe style. But she looked like... herself. And like she wasn't hiding anymore. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They didn't try to force her into makeup, which was nice. Stiles' mole-dotted skin had always been clear - something she thanked the heavens every day for - and baby-smooth, her lashes long. Lydia actually sighed with envy before telling her not to bother. It made Stiles smile for... about an hour, maybe more. She paraded in her new wardrobe for her dad - who was supportive and horrified at the same time, because his daughter was growing up - and danced to Ke$ha like an idiot when she put it away. She had to admit it felt good. _  
_

It also felt pretty good to get to school on Monday and spot at least three guys staring at her ass during her walk through the parking lot.

 

It wasn't the Erica Reyes Entrace of 2013, but when she came into the lunchroom, she didn't feel at all out of place sitting next to Lydia. For a moment, the entire table stared at her, until she broke the tension with a shrug. "What? Lydia got to me. I kinda like it."

 

Scott broke into a grin and thumped her impossibly gently on the shoulder, and everyone went back to talking.

 

Lydia had a leg thrown over Isaac's beside her, which Stiles couldn't quite figure out - it was either cute or really uncomfortable looking. Scott was feeding Allison shredded carrots from his tray and she was rolling her eyes, which exactly summed up their relationship. Erica was plopped right in Boyd's lap, eating strawberries like the definition of sin while Boyd calmly dug in to a chicken burger. Danny and Jackson didn't look overly couple-y, but Danny had a casual possessive arm over Jackson's chair, and the guy looked smug as hell. It made Stiles smother a smile into her mac n cheese even as she kind of also wanted to kick them. 

 

Because all of her friends being paired up meant she was alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The thing about Derek Hale was that he was so _ridiculous_. There had never been someone who embodied the word more. She'd known him almost three years, and she still hadn't been able to puzzle him out. People were easy for Stiles - she could read them better than she'd ever been able to read a road map. But Derek was just as confusing to her as the mess of colored lines she'd always hated in driving school. He was strong and powerful  _(in very awesome hot ways that she didn't think about at all no)_ but he was also fragile. Breakable from a few simple words. He fought her as often as he conceded to her - and didn't concede to anyone else. Even Lydia was practically submissive under his stern gaze.

 

But not Stiles. Even before, when he hadn't trusted her at all, the glares he threw at her weren't the alpha coming out to play, the ego taking it's turn. They were challenging, but not dominating; something inside her rose to that call. She pushed at him, twisted and pulled until he pressed her against the wall to stop her from flailing in his face again. And maybe part of that was a desire to be close to him - because who wouldn't? What person attracted to men could resist? Resist the push and pull, the twist and turn dance they made up as they went along. Dodging and chasing each other, creating barriers only to tear them down moments later.

 

For all that she was confused about Derek, she doubted there was anyone who knew him better. Boyd was his second-in-command, smart and with an essence of earned loyalty, and Derek trusted him, but they didn't talk so much as they exchanged glances, small touches, always with Derek domineering. Isaac was also close to Derek - as close as anyone - but Derek was like an older brother, the tough love sort, one who was brittle but kind. With Stiles, Derek didn't play a role. He wasn't the alpha, or the brother, or the father figure. He was just  _Derek._ He laughed at her when she was being an idiot and laughed at  _himself_ because he didn't have to pretend he knew it all. 

 

Stiles never expected him to have all the answers. In fact, most of the time, she came to him with her own, and if he corrected her, she took it with a grain of salt. They figured things out together - when Derek shared them with the pack, he never mentioned her name, but he always looked at her as if that alone could display his gratitude.

 

It kind of did, really.

 

Point being, Derek with Stiles was different. He laughed openly, not the warm pack chuckle under his breath but that loud, tip-of-the-head belly laugh that never failed to make her stomach tighten. He also showed more vulnerability - let it break out raw and open across his face, let her run fingers through his hair like she could chase everything bad from his head. They didn't talk about it, but sometimes she would wake up to his breathing against her neck, arm curled around her waist like he couldn't bear to let go.

 

Derek was a mess of blurry lines and contradictions. A puzzle with a million tiny fragments all in the same shape, so that you never quite knew how they fit together. The problem with that was, hey, Stiles had never been someone who could avoid mystery. She walked straight in and tripped headlong.

 

So it was no surprise that her seventeen year old self promptly decided to  _fall in love with Derek Hale._

 

A problem which hadn't deserted her in year and some months since. 

 

It wasn't, like, an  _issue,_ really. No one knew about it - well, probably they knew she had a crush on him, at first, when she couldn't be around him without arousal pooling low in her stomach and her heart fluttering at her throat - and it hadn't gotten in the way of their friendship. Which had been developing into something she'd only likened to Scott, before, actually. That feeling where you know you can call them, any time of day, and they'll answer, because the level of trust is unbreakable. And Scott had broken that, but Derek never had. She doubted he ever  _would,_ really. 

 

They had movie nights, for fuck's sake. Not that the pack didn't do that, because they totally did, and the cuddles there were awesome. But the cuddles on StilesandDerek nights were even better. The way he sprawled out on her bed like he belonged there, barefoot, leather jacket thrown across the desk chair. She'd never been more glad for getting a TV on the wall in her life. Not with the way Derek pulled her legs over his, threw an arm around her shoulders when her head would inevitably fall to his shoulder. Rubbed smooth circles into the skin at her pulse point right before she drifted off to sleep. Those nights were her favorites.

 

So yeah, he was ridiculous. With his penchant for self-deprecating heroism and his  _bunny teeth_ and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was trying to hide a smile. Fucking ridiculous. It wasn't even about the six-pack (which was a lovely bonus) or the stubble or the hypnotic green eyes with the explosion of brown right at the center. Stiles had been demisexual since before she knew the definition of _homo_ sexual, so although Derek's face and body were probably god's gift to the earth (at the very least, Beacon Hills), she wouldn't like any of it without the person behind them.

 

She just wished Derek kind of felt the same, sometimes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Stilinski!" Lydia's heels slapped angrily against the linoleum school-hallway floors. Stiles blanched, squeaking and hiding behind her locker door as she hastily tried to stuff her papers into her binder before Lydia could corner her. It went less than swimmingly.

 

The door slammed shut, narrowly avoiding her fingers. Lydia, in all her 5'3" glory (5'5" in the heels, actually, and Stiles was a tall girl, but she somehow still felt very small in these situations), glowered up at her angrily from in front of it, causing Stiles to flinch and bite at her lower lip. What had she done _now?_

  
"I've been looking for you since fifth," and wow, how was Stiles still standing under the weight of that evil eye? "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

 

"I - _what?_ "

 

Lydia made a tiny huff noise that sounded so irritated, it sort of reminded her of a dragon. "I did not get you all those new clothes so you could agree to a date with _Ian Wilshere_."

 

So that's what this was. Stiles made a noise of indignation, flailing slightly before crossing her arms. "You're the one who told me I could get dates if I tried! And look, I tried! And got a date!" It wasn't like _Derek_ was going to ask her on one. And hey, maybe if she dated Ian long enough, she might stop being so attracted to Derek and actually shift her attentions elsewhere. He'd always seemed like an alright guy.

 

"That isn't - ugh, you are such an _idiot_ sometimes!" Lydia took her by the wrist, nails digging in hard, and Stiles whimpered as she was dragged into a more secluded area of the hallway. At this point, she was actually a little pissed off. Who the hell did Lydia think she was?

 

Well, besides Lydia Martin. That was a good argument. But Stiles was holding strong.

 

She wrenched her hand out of the smaller girl's grip, glaring. " _You_ don't get to tell me who I date or not! Just because everyone else just happened to have all their little pack crushes requited and fall perfectly in love. I can date without all of you ganging up on me."

 

Lydia sighed, as if the world were truly testing her. "You absolute _imbecile_. I _wouldn't_ care who it was you were dating. Ian is a fine choice - handsome, good at sports. Even Jackson would approve - "

 

"Then why - ?"

 

" - if it wasn't for the _massive UST_ between you and Derek Hale."

 

Stiles gave an extremely feminine squeal and covered her face with her hands. "Oh my god, _Lydia_ , I thought - I don't - _why_."

 

"Because you're an idiot." Lydia pried her hands from her face, staring at her dead-on. "We were trying to give you guys time, or space, or whatever the hell you needed to actually do this like adults. But we all thought maybe getting your confidence up might be what you needed to make a _move_. I never expected you to actually be this oblivious."

 

"You _all_ know?" This was mortifying. Derek probably even knew. Oh god, Stiles was going to die. She was going to crawl into a hole and just die, right there, waste away into nothing. _Why_ did this happen to her? Why did this happen to her every single time?

 

Lydia rolled her eyes. It was probably the most common theme in their relationship. "That isn't the _point_ , Stilinski! The point is that you are _not_ going on a date with Ian Wilshere."

 

Stiles moaned, head falling back onto her shoulders. "Why. Why can you not let me move past this."

 

"If you'd get your head out of your _ass_ , what you _could_ be doing is going on dates with Derek."

 

Stiles' head snapped up, her mouth falling open. For a moment, she just stared, right at Lydia. Then she collapsed into laughter, slightly hysterical, clutching at the girl's shoulders. "Oh my god, that's - you think - Derek likes me. Oh god." When Lydia wasn't laughing, Stiles sobered slightly. "Oh, _god_ , you do! You do think that! You all think that he - oh my god, _no_."

 

"Why not?" It was Lydia's turn to cross her arms.

 

"Because - " Stiles flailed, trying to grasp the right words straight out of thin air. "Because no! Because he doesn't! Because he's had like, a billion times to make a move and absolutely nothing! And he just - stares at me, like I'm a total _idiot_ and he can't figure out why he's hanging out with me and no, he doesn't, he doesn't want me like that, okay?" Stiles' whole face was heated, blushing down her throat and across her chest as she panted, furious.

 

What right did they have? Dangling it in front of her face like that. Giving her - god - hope, and just, putting it right there, just out of reach and taking it away. Because when no one knew, no one had the chance to tell her it was possible, tell her to just go for it. Like that was easy. Like the thought didn't make her forget to breathe, palms sweaty, aching along her spine. It wasn't - like that, nothing worked that way, those things didn't happen to her. They happened to the Lydia Martins of the world. It had been proven.

 

Something in her face seemed to make the smaller girl soften, because she reached a hand out and grabbed Stiles', eyebrows furrowing in that way they did when she really cared. "Oh, _honey_ ," and wasn't it funny that Stiles had waited twelve years to hear that and it was only when she'd given up hope and fallen head over heels for someone else that it happened? "Let's get you home. And ice cream."

 

Stiles nodded, breathing slowly evening out. "Allison?"

 

Lydia nodded in confirmation. "Allison."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thirty five minutes later, Stiles was curled up on the couch, knees hugged to her chest while Lydia fiddled with the DVD player. Allison had moments ago walked through the door, having taken time to disentangle from Scott, and was somewhere in the kitchen, sprinkling chocolate chips into Stiles' french vanilla. It wasn't an unfamiliar scenario, but it was usually one of the other girls in her place - the rotation was throwing her for a loop.

 

Allison plopped down beside her, handing her the bowl with a dimpled smile. "Is this the face of realization, Lydia?"

 

The strawberry blonde finally hit play on A Walk To Remember, finding Stiles' other side and looking around her knees at Allison. "No, we're not there yet. This, I think, is more of an 'I haven't talked to anyone about it ever' sort of face. She's terrified." Lydia patted Stiles' leg gently. Allison sighed.

 

The movie was really only there for background and routine - within moments Allison was curling closer to her side, question flitting across her face. Stiles was steadfastedly working through her ice cream, ignoring them both, but there was only about a bite left, so she figured she wasn't getting out of it indefinitely.

 

They both waited until she was done to fully turn their attention to her. Stiles set the bowl on the coffee table and wrapped arms around her legs again, resting her chin on her knees. "I love him crazy amounts," she admitted.

 

Both girls seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "We can check that realization off the list," Allison mumbled, and Lydia nodded over Stiles' legs.

 

"I knew the whole time," Stiles told them, frowning. "Did you guys not remember when I came out as someone who _can't metaphysically get it up for people I don't love?_ "

 

"Oh," Allison breathed quietly.

 

"Yeah, _oh_. So when I actually started noticing things like the way Derek fits into the leather jacket and how nice he smells, I sort of knew I was done with." She paused, trying to find the words. "But I resigned myself to that never ever happening. You know, because objectively I've always known he's hotter than the sun, and there's that _problem_ where Kate Argent pretended to love him and torched his family." Lydia and Allison both winced, but Stiles pressed on. "It was fine. Because no one knew about it. But apparently you all knew, right?" She let out a wry twist of her mouth. "Guess I wasn't as clever as I thought."

 

Allison shook her head. "You were pretty good. Derek has no idea."

 

Stiles' eyebrows shot up. Because that was surprising. "All of you know, but Derek doesn't? How do you figure?"

 

Allison curled her feet on the couch, too, so that her back was against Stiles' side. "Well, if he did, I don't really think he'd look so tortured every time you took your sweatshirt off during training."

 

"Actually," Lydia remarked, thoughtful, "Maybe he would. He does have a way of thinking he's undeserving of what he wants."

 

Allison hummed. "You have a point. But I think it's a little of both. Like, he doesn't think Stiles likes him - plus he knows that with her sexuality, she'd have to be in love with him already to even _consider_ half the things he's probably thinking about - and he thinks that he shouldn't want her to."

 

"Better definition than any, I suppose," Lydia conceded.

 

Stiles' head was spinning.

 

They talked about it like it was so simple. Such a fact, an inevitability. Was that really what people saw, when she was with Derek?

 

Stiles tried to think back, to any time she'd been around him where the pack was present. And alright, more often than not she found herself at least half sprawled across him on the pack movie nights, but that was purely coincidental, wasn't it? And the sweatshirt at training comment - well, she wasn't a wolf, so she couldn't smell arousal, but she doubted her body in an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans had ever been enticing. And Derek hugged her goodbye, more often than not, but he also hugged  _Isaac_ goodbye, so she couldn't really count that.

 

And maybe they did hang out a lot, alone, but was that really enough to make it seem like... he liked her?  _Loved_ her, even? Was it really - 

 

 _Oh._ Oh, oh wow. He  _did._ He totally fucking did. He pulled her closer on pack nights because he wanted  _her_ beside him, hugged her close because he wanted his scent all over her, let her fall asleep on him just to stay close,  _sat outside her window all night to make sure she was safe like a total idiot -_

 

"That," Lydia pointed out to Allison. " _That_ is the realization face."

 

Allison nodded very quickly. "Yeah, that's definitely it."

 

Careful and unruffled, Lydia stood. "Do you want your car keys, Stiles?" She ignored the smug tone and nodded, still wide-eyed and shaky. Oh,  _Derek._ _  
_

Lydia closed her hand around the jangling straight-shot tickets to Derek's apartment, and Stiles stood, mouth hanging open. "I have to go."

 

Allison stood also, patting her on the back. "Yeah," she said sweetly, "Yeah, you should go."

 

"I'm - Lydia, lock up."

 

The strawberry blonde was smirking like a fiend. "Oh, I'll be sure to.  _Go,_ Stilinski."

 

Stiles went.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derek didn't look up when she arrived - he was used to her coming in at odd hours, after all. The pack all had keys to his apartment; it wasn't an unusual occurance for one of them to barge in. Stiles, however, did it even more than most. She stopped in the entryway, breathing hard and blushing practically head to toe.

 

He was beautiful, as always. Grey henley rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans clinging to his thighs. Barefoot - she liked him best that way. He was tinkering with the remote - replacing the batteries - so it was a moment before he looked up, confusion in his gaze; probably because she wasn't talking a mile a minute like she usually did.

 

Derek actually did a double-take. For a moment, Stiles thought she was being too obvious,  _oh, god,_ but then she realized that she hadn't been to see Derek since her shopping excursion. The jeans she'd picked for today were practically painted on, and her fitted white blouse had the top three buttons undone, easily showing the flush creeping it's way across her skin. Of course, under his gaze that problem only  _worsened._

 

He cleared his throat after a moment, resolutely looking at her face, which almost made her bubble into hysterical giggling. "Stiles? Is something wrong?"

 

She shook her head, slowly. Then again for emphasis. He frowned. "Are - "

 

"I don't want to date Ian Wilshere."

 

Derek's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Oh... kay?"

 

Stiles blew her bangs out of her eyes, trying to look more determined than she felt. "Or Gabe McCreedy. Or Lauren Yancy."

 

It wasn't the best start to a confession. Derek looked a little like a deer in the headlights.

 

"I don't - " she blew out a frustrated breath again. "They asked me to, today. Varying ways, varying levels of success. But I don't  _want_ to. I've spent the past eighteen years of my life not managing to get a single person to even try asking me out, and there were  _three_ and I didn't want any of them."

 

Derek was looking sort of hurt, now, and a lot confused with a little bit of suspicion. Stiles hurried to continue. "I don't, because, I just - I want  _you._ To ask. Or to... want? Or, something, I just, Derek - " Stiles surged forward, tumbling headlong into his lap. He looked shell-shocked, vulnerable and confused and terrified, and Stiles wanted to kiss every inch of him. "Derek, please." Her lower lip trembled between her teeth.

 

The sound he made was something like pained relief before he pressed their mouths together, licking warm and sweet into her mouth. She couldn't breathe, didn't  _want_ to breathe, wanted his hands to never leave her waist, loved how her body wrapped around his, how  _warm_ it felt, like a hot blanket at the end of a particularly nasty winter's day. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, because she couldn't let go, because she didn't want him to run, not now, not when they were so  _close._

 

Despite her best efforts, he  _did_ pull away, but it was only to trail butterfly kisses over her jaw, ghost stubble along her neck and press his mouth to her fluttering pulse, humming a pleased noise. "I didn't know," he said quietly.

 

Stiles laughed. "Me neither. But now I do."

 

He pulled away to look up at her, hope in his eyes. This was what she meant - the vulnerability for her, the openness. She'd always craved this.

 

"You  _idiot,_ " she breathed, pressing a chaste kiss to his parted lips. "I love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Stiles defines herself as 'demisexual'. This particular brand of sexuality is defined as _"a person who does not experience sexual attraction unless they form a strong emotional connection"._ What this most commonly means is that the person in question likely experiences only secondary sexual attraction, which has been defined as _"attraction stemming from a connection, usually romantic, or from status or how closely the person is in relationship to the other",_ rather than primary sexual attraction, which is based more in looks and surface personality. If you have any questions, you can let me know! However, I am not myself demisexual, so my information stems from some very good friends and the internet. If you have a better definition than mine, please leave it below and I'll work it in here!


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